MP
by liamarehorselover
Summary: Alternate Universe in which Peter is drafted after Prince Caspian and is a German Prisoner of War. This takes place when Edmund drives up to get him when he's finally rescued. Written from an outside viewpoint. The MP.
1. Chapter 1

AN – Alternate Universe in which Peter is drafted after Prince Caspian and is a German Prisoner of War. This takes place when Edmund drives up to get him when he's finally rescued.

Disclaimer: This is Fanfiction. Therefore we must all assume I am a fan and do not own said concepts.

The boy looks like his son. He's blond, he's got stormy blue eyes that err more to the side of gray, and he is hideously, unspeakably young.  
>The MP knows that he doesn't have to get personally involved with this boy, just wait with him at the train station until his brother comes to get him. But it's hard not to look at the boy and see not another solider, but a boy who's been through more than most men ever will be.<p>

He'd collected the boy at the military hospital, thought that he needed another month or so, but the boy looked glad to be out of it. He'd let the man take his duffel and sat obediently by him on the train, and now he was sitting anxiously on the bench while the MP stands next to him, his firm glare keeping people well away.

It doesn't show, not after six weeks in the hospital, save in the hollowness of the boy's face and the cast on one arm. The circles under his eyes, not to mention the pain in him make him look older, but at the present moment he seems very young as he asks the MP, "What time is it?"  
>The MP smiled, checked his watch, told the boy, "Half past lad. Three minutes later than the last time you asked."<br>The boy's face colored and he looked down, "Sorry."

The MP shook his head, "It's fine lad. You miss your brother?"  
>A short nod, then a "Yes." it sounds cut off, as though the boy's struggling not to cry. "I told him he should have let Dad come, he has exams, but he was pretty set."<br>"Brothers can be like that. Is he your older?"  
>The boy shoook his head, "Younger, actually. Four years."<br>"Ah."

"Yes, that's what a lot of people say."

The MP laughed, surprised. Apparently the Germans hadn't burned all the spirit out of him. It had seemed that way for a while. "Trouble?"  
>The boy shook his head ruefully, "When he's a mind to be."<br>"What's his name?"  
>The boy bit his lip and tangled his hand further in his duffel bag's straps. "Edmund. He's in university now."<br>" Oh? What's he studying?"  
>"Literature. He's going to be a professor."<p>

The pride in the boy's voice spoke volumes. He turned to the MP again, who told him, "Twelve thirty five lad. He'll be here in ten minutes."

A satisfied nod, then the boy told him, "Thank you, by the way, for coming all this way with me."

The MP shakes his head, "Not a problem, lad."

They sat in silence again, until an even younger, even slighter boy walked up. The boy looked up as soon as he heard the footsteps, "Ed?"  
>"Pete!"<br>The boy was up immediately, and his brother was grabbing him around the neck and holding him close, "Pete."  
>"Hey Ed." He buried his face in his brother's hair, stood there for a long moment before Ed squeezed him tightly, then asked him, "You ready?"<br>He nodded weakly, and Ed nodded, took his bag and hefted it up, then let Peter lean against him, "Come on. Let's get you home."  
>The boy nodded gratefully and let his brother lead him out to the car, pausing to tell the MP, "Thank you."<br>The MP had to clear his throat a little before he replied. "Don't worry about it lad. Just doing my job." 

AN – Comments? I was thinking of writing more, but thought I'd wait to see if anyone liked it. Let me know.


	2. Scars

Disclaimer: This is fanfiction. Therefore we must assume I do not own said concepts.

Scars

Second part of my MP series. This one's from Edmund's point of view.

The scars are what bother him the most.

They snake from his brother's hips to his shoulder blades, then lap over to the tops of his shoulders, where they end in ugly red commas.

They pain Peter, who sleeps on his stomach with a hot towel laid over them. When the towel cools and he begins to moan, Edmund goes and replaces it, or his father does. Peter always responds the same way, a bleary smile, a whispered thanks. He doesn't speak much anymore. He rarely smiles. Edmund has yet to see him laugh.

Peter had seemed fine when he'd arrived to pick him up from the train station. A little pale perhaps, but nothing truly amiss. But once Peter had been home, he'd all but dropped on the front rug. Father hadn't seemed surprised, not by his son's exhaustion, not by the scars on his back, not by his silence or his whimpers at night. Edmund had been, but he'd done his best to keep that to himself, and spent as much time as he could with Peter.

He slept a lot. He loved the sun now, seemed to edge across the bed to stay in the light from the window. They kept the fire up in his room and the warmth seemed to be coming back to him, his hands weren't so cold now.

When Edmund comes into the room Peter looks up and smiles, a small one, but one nonetheless, "Ed."  
>He comes and sits down by the bed, "How are you feeling?"<br>"I'm fine, Ed. Don't worry so much."  
>HE couldn't help it though. It was his brother lying in bed when he should be walking home with the other mates on the rugby team. It was his brother who couldn't sleep at night, when he should have nothing but happy dreams. It was his brother…<p>

"Ed. Eddy?"  
>He snapped his head up and Peter laughed, "You building castles in Narnia again?"<br>"Maybe. Should I have a buttress or a tower, high king?"  
>Peter laughed again, quietly. It was good to hear his brother laugh. It had been a long time.<p>

Edmund saw his empty bowl of breakfast and asked, "You hungry?" and was pleasantly surprised when his brother nodded. "I'll get you something then. Be back in a moment."  
>"I'm not going anywhere."<br>That made Edmund feel better than he had in weeks.

He knows the sound now, knows to wake right when it first starts, so that he can grab his brother and hold him tight, so that he can tell him, "It's all right Pete. I'm still here."  
>Peter will smile then, a little sheepishly, tell him sorry, and he'll say not to worry about it, that it doesn't matter. But it does, because his brother should be able to get a decent night's sleep for once in his life, but he probably never would again. He deserved –<p>

Well, he deserved a lot more than this.


	3. Brotherly Love

AN – First of all, so sorry this took so long. I've been a little stumped, but I have a couple of ideas at least, so hopefully that'll carry me through. Any suggestions let me know. POVS you want me to do or anything like that.

Also, I know this is a drastically different Peter than the last two chapters, but it's been about three months, so we're gonna go with the idea that he's feeling much better.

Throughgood was never quite sure what Pevensie was going to do next.

At the beginning of the term he'd sat in the back, quiet and skittish. He'd flinched when he'd been addressed, and he'd been walked to a from class every day by a boy with dark hair who looked like he'd fight the whole world for him.

That had been at the beginning of the term, when Summer was just starting. The younger boy had been away a while, but he was back now, now that fall was coming. That had seemed to ease Pevensie a little, he'd told one of his mates after class that his brother was due back the next day.

Now Pevensie talked, and he laughed with his other mates, as he watched the other boys file out and waited for the dark haired boy after classes. That was what he was doing now, sitting with his books, waiting. Thoughgood asked him if he needed anything and he shook his head, saying, "He should be here soon."  
>"No hurry lad."<p>

Pevensie, one of the boys had told him, had been in the war. Maybe that was why when he looked at you you wanted to look away. His eyes were dark and stormy and horribly steady, and they spoke of things and places that boys his age should not see.

But he never acted as wounded as he really was. He'd smile with the rest of the class when Throughgood made one of his rare jokes, and every once and a while he'd make an astute, and incredibly wry observation.

But then you would see the cold come back into his eyes if someone said something that was out of turn, you could see the blankness that reflected there if he was riled, and you were reminded, quite harshly, that the boy had seen things.

Throughgood knew what war did to men, had seen it, had felt it. But he thought, sometimes, that he knew nothing about what it had done to Peter Pevensie.

He watched as Pevensie stood and the other boy rushed into the room, saying, "Sorry I'm late, Pete. The trains ran late and the meeting - "

He just laughs, "You're fine. I'm not in a hurry." He goes to leave then looks at his brother's face, turns it, asks, "Who did that?"  
>Throughgood can just make out the fading outline of a bruise on the younger boy's face. "Ed?"<p>

There was no answer and without warning, he pushed the boy down on a seat and pulled up his shirt sleeve, his face darkening as he hissed, "Did Dad - "  
>"No!"<br>"Then who, Ed?"

The boy turns away, and he can almost see the shame on his face, as he mumbled something, that Peter obviously heard well enough. He turned his brother back to look at him, then bent his head and murmured something in his ear, something that made the boy relax. But Throughgood was not relaxing, because he could see the rage beginning to make storm clouds of the boy's eyes, could see him begin to shake with anger as he kissed the top of his brother's forehead before turning to Throughgood and saying, "I really hate to ask..." 

Ten minutes later the younger boy was sitting in Throughgood's office sipping at a cup of tea and resettling the cold compress over his face. He'd said yes when Pevensie had asked because he'd felt for the lad, but also because he'd never seen someone as angry as he'd seen Pevensie in that moment. The brother apparently had, because he'd called, on the way out, "You kill him and you'll have to live with aunt Alberta."  
>Now the boy looked at him and apologized for his time, and Throughgood shrugged. He'd learned to take things in stride in twenty years of teaching. This wasn't the first boy who'd found himself on his couch with a cup of tea and a compress.<p>

"Your brother made a convincing argument."  
>"I could not hold him."<br>Throughgood shook his head, "No. I don't imagine you could've. You've seen him that angry before?"

"Once."  
>He looked up, and the boy sighed, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."<br>"No?"  
>"No." <p>

_Edmund had been fourteen. He'd been captured, he remembered that still, though most of the ordeal was blurred. But his brother - _

_When Peter had found him, and he had, he'd shown his captor's no mercy, offered none. When the leader had fell to his knees before him, his older brother had not hesitated, had not questioned, had not flinched._

_He'd slit his throat. Kicked his corpse away, and knelt down next to Edmund._

_Another man might have flinched when Peter brushed his hair away from his face. He might have wondered about the stability of such a man as he gathered him up in his arms._

_But Edmund hadn't even worried as he'd leaned against his brother's chest and closed his eyes. Peter had him. Everything was fine._

"Ed? Eddy?"

He sighed and turned his head away from the noise. He hadn't slept well for months after Narnia, and now that he was finally asleep, someone wanted him to move.

"Ed?" a sigh, then someone slid an arm across his shoulders and under his knees. The other man, the professor, asked, "You need help with him?"  
>"Nah. I can still carry him." A heft and he was up.<p>

"Pete?"  
>"I'd hope so. Let's go, hmm. I've got a cab."<br>He lapsed a minute until he was in somewhere else, and they were moving, his head on Peter's knee, his brother's hand stroking through his hair. He roused enough to say, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."  
>"Hush. It's all right."<br>"Eustace -"  
>"He'll be staying with us a while."<br>"Aunt Alberta -"  
>He felt his brother stiffen, "I wouldn't let that woman near a dog I didn't like."<br>He relaxed again, drifted off for a time. He became aware again when he was being settled into a bed in a room he almost didn't recognize.

"Pete?"  
>His older brother looked up from where he was unlacing his own shoes, having already helped Edmund into his pajamas. "Hmm?"<p>

"Why am I in your room?"  
>"Thought we'd let Eustace have some space to himself."<br>He smiled, thinking it had more to do with the fact that his brother wanted him closer to him than any sort of space arrangements. But he'd let Peter have this facade if he wanted it.

"Pete."  
>"Hmm."<br>"I'm glad your back."  
>He heard rather than saw his brother smile, "I'm glad I'm back too."<p> 


End file.
